


The Garden (Won't) Will Wait

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus was proud of the work they had done, the way the seedlings had grown; taking root so easily in the soil, but then Neville had made sure the soil was properly prepared. . . Albus thought of Neville and his dedication to making sure everything was properly prepared. Neville did nothing haphazardly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden (Won't) Will Wait

The Garden ~~Won’t~~ Will Wait

Albus grimaced as he threw the dredges of his tea down the drain of the kitchen sink. It had grown cold while he’d stood pondering, staring aimlessly out the kitchen window overlooking the herb garden he and Neville had planted earlier in the spring.

The earthy smell of the sage, the sharp intoxicated aroma of the rosemary and the citrusy scent of the lemon thyme and lemon verbena drifted through the open window along with the cool refreshing bite of the mints they had planted. Albus noticed the mint was running rampant again; it would be time to cut it back soon, before it over took the garden. 

They had raised the herbs from seed, tending them lovingly in the greenhouse before planting in the garden. During the time he’d worked for Neville, Albus had discovered a love of gardening he’d not known existed before. Digging in the dirt, feeling the moistness of the soil beneath and between his fingers, was sensual in a way he had never realized before. The smell of the freshly turned soil, the grit of the dirt against his fingertips, the burst of intense flavour of vegetables ripened to perfection in the sun, all of these were senses new to Albus. 

It was, however, above all of this the miracle of taking a tiny, sometimes miniscule, seed and covering it with a thin layer of soil. Watching it grow and sprout into a plant was something that Albus found to be of profound beauty. The magic of seeds, which was there for everyone, including Muggles, to enjoy never failed to fill him with joy and delight, when the first new shoots of the plant would appear just above the surface. 

Albus was proud of the work they had done, the way the seedlings had grown; taking root so easily in the soil, but then Neville had made sure the soil was properly prepared. Rinsing his cup in the sink before placing it on the draining board to dry, Albus thought of Neville and his dedication to making sure everything was properly prepared. Neville did nothing haphazardly. He thought and planned and analyzed every detail from start to finish and beyond. Methodical to the end, the result was always worth it. 

Albus had frequently questioned Neville’s placement in Gryffindor. The rushing in to do heroic deeds had never seemed like the Neville he knew. He thought Neville would have probably fit in his own house of Hufflepuff better. Neville had never appeared particularly heroic to Albus, until he remembered his dad’s stories of Neville and Albus’s mum leading the student underground rebellion at Hogwarts during the last year of the war. Harry had often said that without Neville destroying that final Horcrux, he’d have never been able to defeat the Dark Lord; Neville was as much a hero as Harry was. Harry had joked that Albus and his siblings owed their existence to Neville, as if Neville had not beheaded Nagini, Harry would have surely been killed and then where would they be? Albus was grateful to Neville for that, but somehow that brave and heroic Neville was not same sweet and gentle person Albus knew first hand. The contrast between the two Nevilles was one Albus found most intriguing. 

It had felt strange to Albus, when he’d first begun calling him Neville, but somehow continuing to call him Uncle Neville, or Professor Longbottom when they spent hours each day grunting, sweating, and carrying load after load of Dragon dung and Hippogriff manure, seemed a bit childish and immature. In the nineteen years Albus had known him, he’d gone from beloved Uncle Neville, to respected Professor, to admired employer, to… to what…? 

Albus was not sure, he could not quite figure out his feelings for Neville. He admired him, sure, admired him greatly, but it was more than that. He found him easy to talk to about anything, being possessed of a deeper level of understanding of emotions and feeling than most people realized. He was always interested in whatever Albus wanted to discuss with him. Neville was sweet and unassuming and fairly clueless on most subjects except anything regarding plants. In that, Neville was the champion: no one else came even close. That expertise was part of the reason Albus was here in the first place. 

After the leaving ceremony from Hogwarts, Albus had no more an idea of what he wanted to do with his life than he’d had when he’d started. Quiet and shy, he’d known Aurorhood was not for him. His dad, while disappointed, had come to accept Albus’s decision without too much complaint. What Albus did know, and if he ever had any doubts his mum and dad soon made short work of them was that he’d not be allowed to laze around watching Muggle TV, or playing pickup Quidditch matches with his plethora of Weasley cousins. He’d have to be “of use”, a favorite saying of both parental units. He was also required to earn his own Galleons. His dad was all about the “being of use”, and his mum was adamant about him earning his own pocket money. 

He thought he might like working outdoors. Albus loved the sun, the wind, and even most times the rain. Heat and cold seldom bothered him. He thought he might enjoy working in a garden. Getting his fingers dirty and watching things grow seemed like something that would interest him. But he didn’t think there would be much money to be made in that. He’d also thought about helping to rebuild the Muggle Pedestrian Bridge the Death Eaters had destroyed some thirty odd years ago. After much negotiations between Al’s grandfather, the Minister of Magic, and the Muggle Prime Minister, reconstruction was finally about to begin. The Wizarding community was invited to help, but with little or no use of magic. Construction work would help to build some muscles. Albus had been decidedly unmuscular at the time.

But then Uncle Neville had stopped by one afternoon to talk to Harry. Harry was still at the Ministry, so Neville was sharing his tale of woe with Ginny. Albus came in on the tail end of the conversation. He’d overheard Neville say something about the apprentice he’d just hired had up and quit on him with only a week’s notice. Neville was beside himself.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Neville was saying as he enjoyed a bowl of the bilberry crumble, Albus’s mom had made. 

“What’s up, Uncle Nev? Albus asked having come in for his own taste of taste of crumble, His mum made the best. He’d smelled the sweetness of the bilberries all the way in his room on the second level. He scooped a large spoonful and started munching away moaning in ecstasy. Nothing wrong with his appetite - he took after his dad in that aspect as well. 

His mum slapped his hand, “Al, for Merlin’s sake. Get a bowl. But not too much, we'll be having dinner when your dad gets home.” 

Albus had rolled his eyes, and muttered something along the lines of, “which could be sometime tomorrow. You know how he gets when he’s involved in a case. He’ll have to check and recheck each lead, then fill out reams of paperwork, then of course he and Uncle Ron will have to go to the Leaky, drink a few and spend a few minutes chatting with Aunt Hannah, before they’ll finally make their way home. I’ll starve to death by then. They’ll find my poor emaciated body with the faint scent of bilberries still lingering from my last breath.”

Neville and Ginny had both laughed while nodding in agreement and Albus joined them, as he licked the last taste of the sweet fruit from the spoon, being sure to get every drop of flavour. He grinned at Neville who watched every lick with interest.

“Neville, how is Hannah doing, or rather I should ask how you and Hannah are doing? Are things any better?” his mum asked.

At Neville’s downcast eyes and head shake even Albus could tell that Neville and his wife were still floundering trying to find their way back together. He’d often heard him mum and dad talk about it late in the evening. Indications were Uncle Neville and Aunt Hannah still loved each other; they just weren’t ‘in love’ anymore. Albus was unclear on the difference between being “in love” and loving.

“I’ve just had a great idea,” his mum had said. “Neville, didn’t you just tell me your apprentice had quit? You need a new one, right?”

Neville nodded, “Yes, I sure can’t do all the work in the greenhouse, and the garden, not to mention the nursery and the shop, all by myself.” 

Ginny, had turned and looked at Albus with that pointed look on her face, the one that said, ‘don’t you have something to say for yourself young man’. Albus frowned, momentarily taken aback. What had he done, or rather what did **she** know about what he’d done? He searched his brain and came up blank. He looked at her helplessly, and shrugged his shoulders. “What?” he asked.

Neville sat silent, watching the interplay between Albus and his mum, drinking his tea and smiling as he ate yet another serving of crumble. Albus glared at him, willing him to stop eating. The more he ate, the less there would be for Albus, especially once James got home. 

“Albus Severus, I swear you get more like you Uncle Ron each day, completely and totally clueless,” she sighed. She stood waiting, her hands on her hips. .

Still nothing from Albus.

“Don’t. You. Need. A. Job.?” She said slowly and succinctly every word a complete and total sentence in and of itself. 

“What? Well yes, but what’s that go to do with anything?” 

Albus then thought he’d have to decide between which one of the two adults in the room to save first. Neville about choked himself on a berry that he’d not taken the time to chew properly before he’d started laughing. _Serves him right, for eating so much and so fast._ Albus thought, but watching carefully to be sure Neville really was alright. His mum had turned double-decker bus red with apoplexy, before she calmed herself.

“Let’s see if we can apply some basic supply and demand philosophy here. You’ve worked at your Uncle George’s enough to understand. If a person has a need that another person can fill, and that person also has a need, and if those two people can fill each other’s need, it’s what we call a win-win situation. Neville needs an apprentice, you need a job. What is our solution to this dilemma? Obviously you go to work for Neville.”

Albus and Neville each looked at the other contemplating the possibility. Albus had no idea what was going through Neville’s brain. For himself the thought of spending his days out in the sun, and rain and wind, lifting, digging and carrying away brush, working in the garden, watching things growing and engaging in some mindless manual labour sounded a good plan. 

Besides, Uncle Neville would probably let him skive off early on those days when Albus had a previous engagement. He soon learned he was dead wrong about that. 

***

Albus started his apprenticeship under Neville the next week. There was some paperwork to be filed with the Ministry of Apprentices. He and Neville both had to sign before Albus could start, Neville agreeing he would not take advantage of his apprentice and Albus agreeing to obey the rules as set forth by the master. The first thing Albus discovered was Uncle Neville was not quite the pushover Albus had thought him to be.

“Albus Potter! Where, in the dickens have you been? You’re over two hours late.” Neville had shouted when Albus arrived about half past eight on the first day. 

Albus snorted, surprised and bemused. Who besides Uncle Neville would say “dickens’? It was too much. Albus had then got a look at Uncle Neville’ face and he stopped laughing. “Sorry, I’m a bit late, James and I stayed up too late last night. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. The garden will wait; it’s not like the plants are going to run off. I’ll get started as soon as I’ve had a cup of coffee,” he’d muttered, going for a much needed cup of caffeine. 

“The garden… the garden will wait…what?” Neville started sputtering. 

“Mother fuck! Ouch! That hurt.” Albus yelped as his coffee cup was snatched from him, the hot liquid slopping over the side onto his hand before it was poured down the sink

Albus spun around to see his sweet, unassuming Uncle Neville, Professor Longbottom glowering at him. His wand was in his outstretched hand, pointed it at Albus. Neville performed a quick healing spell, soothing the burn and muttered “sorry about that”, but the wand remained pointing at Al. Neville was not playing. 

“Let’s get a few things clear this morning. Number one, the garden **will not** wait. Early morning, before the sun rises, is the best time to water the garden so the plants are full of moisture before the heat of the day has a chance to burn them, and before the soil get too baked to absorb the liquid. The early morning hours are also the best time to gather flowers and a great many of the herbs, when their flavour and scents are at their peak. I expect you to be here by six every morning you’re scheduled to work.”

Albus groaned, clutching his head with his hands. 

“And,” Neville continued apparently just getting warmed up. He walked right up to Albus, seriously invading his personal space. Shaking his index finger in Albus’s face he said, “I am the boss. You are the apprentice. You will do what I say, when I say, and how I say to do it. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” 

Albus nodded, terrified to do anything else. What was up with all these one word sentences people kept using around him? _Fuck, Uncle Neville was kind of sexy when he got all demanding like that._

“What? I’m sorry I can’t hear you. I’m sure your parents taught you to speak up when someone asks you a question, and I know myself and the other Professors expected you to answer when questioned,” Uncle Neville had snapped, still glaring at him, obviously still upset at Albus’s cavalier attitude about his new position as Apprentice. Neville’s expectations seemingly much higher than Albus had anticipated. 

“Yes sir, I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Neville said and then apparently not wanting to seem too severe he’d softened and given Albus a strong and loving embrace, which did strange and wondrous things to Albus’s young and embarrassingly easily aroused young body. Neville reached out and rumpled Albus’s hair. _Fuck, people were always rumpling his hair. That usually bothered him, but somehow, not today._

“I just wanted to set some things straight before we started working together. I probably should have gone over my expectations with you before your first day; I apologize. You’ll find I can be quite demanding when it comes to gardening and plant care,” Neville said, putting his arm around Albus. “Let’s get that coffee for you and talk.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, an old very battered looking scrub pine, Albus with his coffee and Neville with his spearmint tea, a beverage Neville enjoyed with a passion, they talked. Rather Neville talked and Albus listened. 

While Neville explained, in detail, what Albus’s duties would entail, Albus examined his surroundings. The kitchen was at the back of the two-level stone cottage. Albus knew the shop was at the front. In the shop, Neville sold his plants and herbs and other items for the serious gardener and amateur herbalist. Between the shop and the kitchen was a small sitting area with bookcases lining the walls, two large overstuffed chairs with foot rests and a sofa which, from where Albus sat, looked big and soft enough to sleep on for a week. A fireplace and a few low-lying tables for drinks and unfinished books completed the décor. The entire place looked warm and relaxing and welcoming. 

When Neville had finished, and after Albus had said he had no questions at the time, they each rinsed their cups and headed in different directions, Albus outside to water the garden, although belatedly, and Neville to check on the latest growth of the seedlings he was cultivating. 

“Albus?” Neville called as he was walking out the door that leads to the greenhouse and the seedlings.

“Yes?” Albus turned around.

“Hope you didn’t make plans for this evening. You’re going to be working overtime. I expect ten hours a day from you. If you can’t get here and begin work until after 8:30, almost 9:00, you can expect to still be here past 6:30. You’ll be making up your time tonight.”

Albus had started to protest but seeing the look on Neville’s face had stopped his protestation.  
He would become well acquainted with those looks over the next few months. 

***

A year or more had passed since that day. Albus had been apprenticing for Neville for over a year. They had celebrated the anniversary with Watercress Soup and Herb Encrusted Sea Bass baked in parchment, and Chocolate Zucchini cake. It had been one of the best years Albus could remember. Both shy and reticent, neither of them felt the need for constant conversation. Instead they spoke in sentence fragments, each knowing what the other wanted with no wasted words. They’d developed their own language of sorts, one only they seemed to understand.

During the winter, while Neville was teaching, Albus would often stay overnight at the cottage, where the shop was located, serving the customers that still came in. They’d come to buy the herbs Neville grew fresh in the nursery. Neville’s kitchen herbs were prized all over the district, as were the books he carried in the shop. There were books on cooking with herbs, alongside books on the uses of herbs in healing and magic, as well as general how-to-grow books, especially about herbs. Serving both Muggle and Wizard customers, there was something for everyone. The Muggle customers usually purchased the books on healing and magic, while the wizard population seemed more interested in the cookbooks. 

Another big seller was the homemade herbal candles Neville and Hannah had made in earlier winters, while they were trying to still keep their marriage alive. The candles all had a wonderful aroma and the scents were intoxicating. 

“We’re starting to run low on those candles, I can’t believe people are willing to pay such high prices for them,” Albus said as he placed more of the candles on the shelves.

“People don’t mind paying for quality,” Neville said. “Looks like we’re going to need to make some more. Maybe you and I can do that some weekend when the shop is closed. Would you like that, or do you have more fun things to do than spend a Saturday and Sunday hanging around with an old man?” Neville teased something he would not and could not have done when Albus had first come to work for him. Teasing was something that Neville did not respond to well at first. Over their time together he had relaxed in his interaction with Albus.

“I’d love nothing more than to spend a weekend, or even longer, helping you to make more of the herb candles.” Albus replied with no hint of teasing in his voice.

Neville had turned sharply and looked directly at Al silently, before he blushed slightly and turned back around straightening the already perfectly straight candles on the shelves. 

Since the shop’s hours were reduced in the winter months and there was little else to do garden wise, Albus had to find other ways to earn his apprenticeship. When not actively working he was expected to study and learn the different properties of certain herbs. Neville would give him an ailment, or a situation, or even a food taste, and Albus was expected to come up with the best answer to each and all situation. Sometimes one herb or plant would solve all the problems, sometimes it may take two or three. He was however expected to reduce it all down to the easiest solution for all. If he had the wrong answer, Neville would send him back to do it again and again until he got it right. Neville would often drop hints along the way, but never would he give Albus the answers. 

Albus had also taken to sleeping in one of the two upstairs bedrooms, while he studied. He found he enjoyed the solitude the cottage provided. The cottage reminded him of Neville, even when Neville wasn’t there. Warm and cozy in the winter from both the old Aga cooker, that was constantly on, and the fires that usually burned in the sitting room. The cottage provided a refuge for Albus and helped his concentration. Albus had commandeered the bedroom facing east, making it his own, for when he stayed over. Of course the fact that the majority of Neville’s clothing and personal items were in the other one had precipitated the decision. 

“Are you sure you want the one facing the sun rising? Won’t you want to sleep in on the days you’re not working?” Neville had asked. “I’d be glad to change with you,” he’d continued.

“No, that’s all right. Thanks for offering though. I enjoy watching the sun rise, and besides I’ve grown used to getting up early, I doubt if I could sleep in very long anyway. You keep your room, I’ll be quite happy using this one. I’m not sure how many nights I’ll be staying over. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Neville had gazed at him quietly, the look on his face indecipherable. “It’s no trouble; I just want you to be comfortable whenever you are here.” 

“I am, Neville. I’m always comfortable whenever I’m here.” 

***

“Don’t you get lonely out there?” James had asked one day, Lily nodding her agreement with the question.

“Not really. I enjoy being alone, something I’ve not had much chance to experience at this house.” He teased with a grin. 

“Probably wants to wank in private without having to remember how to do a silencing spell, not that he can remember,” he and Lily both cracked up with laughter.

Albus groaned. Okay so he’d mistakenly cast a _Sonorous_ instead of a _Silencio_ , when he was fourteen and Oliver Wood, the Captain of Puddlemere United had come to visit. Oliver, with his sexy Scottish accent, his gorgeous Quidditch toned body, and continued passion for the game, had done something to young Albus.

Albus had reached two, well three really, conclusions on that day. First, he liked men - men not boys; he liked the men to be old, or at least a lot older than he was himself; and he had a thing for Scottish accents, especially if they came in such a package as Oliver Wood. He’d gone to his room and cast what he’d thought was a silencing spell and wanked for longer than he ever done before finally exhausted but satisfied, he’d fallen asleep. 

The next morning he’d come down to breakfast to be greeted by applause, wolf whistles and laugher from the inhabitants of the table. At his look of confusion James very graciously filled him in. Apparently he’d cast the wrong spell the night before. His dad had laughingly explained to him that the wand movements for _Silencio_ were a slight swish followed by a longer flick. _Sonorous_ wand movements were a longer swish with just a slight flick, a mistake anyone could make, if they’d not been paying attention the day the spells were explained. 

Not only had the rooms on either side of him, James on one side and Lily on the other heard him, which would have been bad enough, but the rest of the house as well, including Oliver. 

“I can’t begin to tell you how very honoured I feel to have been the impetus for such passion and desire in some one as special and handsome as you surely are. Be sure and look me up when you’re older, I’ll see what we can arrange.” Oliver had teased him, but being sure to wink at Harry when he saw the look that passed over the other’s face. 

Albus saw the wink and knew it would never come to pass, but he appreciated what Oliver was doing anyway. He felt better, but still horribly embarrassed.

At the time, Albus felt he would never live it down. He’d eventually got over the other, and could appreciate the humour of it, but that wasn’t what was bothering him now. No, what bothered him now was: did James know? How did he know? Albus had never said a word about his feelings for Neville. And, Merlin yes, good, long, healthy and vocally enhanced wanks were one of, if not the main reason, that Albus enjoyed spending time alone at the cottage. He had an established routine that he followed religiously. 

At the end of the day, once he’d eaten his dinner and cleaned up after himself, Albus would partake of a nice long steamy shower. He would carefully clean away the dirt and the sweat and the grime for the day, being sure to wash every crevice and valley. Emerging from the shower, he’d go to Neville’s closet where he kept his gardening clothes. No matter how many times they’d been _Scourgified_ , or washed, they still carried Neville’s scent, a mix of freshly turned soil, clean perspiration born of working in the sun, and the cucumber and green apple shampoo and body wash Neville favoured. Albus would breathe in deeply, enjoying the unique aroma of Neville that lingered on them. Closing his eyes, Albus would imagine himself peeling off every bit of clothing piece by piece, stroking and kissing each strip of skin as it was unveiled, until Neville lay beneath him naked, hard and panting, from Albus’s talented tongue and fingers.

By this point in his fantasies, Albus would be hard as a rock, and he’d have to take things in hand, literally. Wrapping one of Neville’s shirts around him, he would return to his own bed, placing himself in the center. Sometimes a few quick strokes were all it took, other times he needed more. On those occasions Albus would summon the special lotion Neville had made from the plants in the garden including fruit, vegetables as well as the herbs. Coating his fingers thoroughly, Albus would explore his own body, delving deeply into his hole, stretching himself, before plunging his fingers in and out, stroking and rubbing tenderly at first then harder and faster as the pleasure poured through him. With each thrust of his fingers into his arse, he would see Neville’s face before him, hear Neville’s voice asking if he was happy, feel the work roughened hands of Neville on his skin, and smell Neville’s scent from the shirt he was wearing. Such was Albus’s strength of vision that when he screamed his release, it was never from his own manipulations, but from Neville who had made his world spin out of control. Only upon opening his eyes did Albus remember he was alone. 

Sated but lonely, Albus would curl up in the bed clutching Neville’s shirt to his chest and fall asleep. He thought of Neville constantly when he wasn’t there, and all but drooled over him when he was there, doing anything and everything he could think of to touch him, or speak to him when he was there, just to be near him. Albus was smitten, of that there was no doubt. 

But what to do about it?

He suspected Neville might feel the same. As he thought over the past year he remembered things Neville had done – gestures and signs that would indicate a certain depth of feeling. Making sure Albus’s coffee was ready for him, just the way he liked it every morning when Neville was the first to arrive. Going to extra lengths to bring home the special crumpets Albus enjoyed with his afternoon tea. Brushing Albus sweat-soaked hair back from his face with gentle fingers, and taking a damp cloth to wash the dirt off Albus face before they sat down to lunch together, and a myriad of other things. All of which were very caring in a fatherly manner, and if questioned Neville passed it off as thinking of Albus as his own son. 

Albus would have believed him except for the fact that each time Neville touched him, it lingered just a little past acceptable parental touch. And for those times Albus would look up to see Neville gazing at him with such intensity it made Albus instantly hard, no matter what the circumstances. And except for those times Neville laughed delightedly at each and every one of Albus’s ridiculously silly jokes and stories, when Albus grew to love Neville even more. 

Yes, Albus was sure Neville was feeling the attraction as well, but there was the one problem. Neville was still married. He and Hannah had not yet reached a decision of what to do regarding their marriage. They still adored one another but had discovered they really had nothing in common anymore. They had grown apart over the years; each with interests of their own and their own set of friends. Hannah’s recent enlargement of the Leaky Cauldron and the extra customers it brought kept her very busy and happy. Hannah liked being around crowds of people, while Neville preferred more solitude. And Neville’s expansion of products he sold in the shop, along with the increase of plants produced in his garden, kept him equally occupied. 

The decision to separate and possibly divorce was an amiable one. Hannah seemed to want the divorce more than Neville, who still seemed to hope they would still be able to find a way to work it out. Change was something Neville did not seem to embrace. He would however, accept whatever the decision was. They were at dinner together now, discussing the final decision. Neville had said he thought he wanted to stay married, but Albus wasn’t so sure that was really what Neville wanted. And as long as Neville was still married, Albus knew he would never act on his feelings. He wasn’t sure Neville would admit to his feelings for Albus, even to himself. 

What was Albus to do? He wanted to let Neville know how he felt, but he couldn’t. What if he’d misread the signs, and Neville really did think of him as the son he’d never had? What if Neville did not feel the same way Albus did? He’d totally fuck up their current relationship. The thought of spending the rest of his life without Neville in it was more than he could bear. He could not and would not fuck up their friendship. Neville meant too much to him. 

Strolling through the cottage, looking for something to do, Albus reached into shelves of books, picking one at random. He looked at the title Magical Herbalism. It was a Muggle book, one that Neville had inherited from the old Muggle gardener that had lived one farm over. 

Albus had arrived one day to find Neville deep in conversation with a weathered looking old man dressed in baggy trousers stuffed inside his Wellies. The man had appeared older than was possible and still be alive. He was stooped over and his hearing did not appear all that reliable as Neville had to repeat everything at a loud volume. Albus watched fascinated as Neville talked and laughed and chatted with the old man for almost an hour. Finally the old man had hobbled off down the path that led to the next farm. The fact that Neville had been shirtless, his broad and tanned back glistening with perspiration in the morning sun, had kept Albus’s attention as well. 

“What was that all about?” he’d asked when Neville had said good bye and turned toward Albus.

Neville grinned, “That was Nigel. He lives on the next farm over. He’s a Muggle. Poor old thing, he has no one to talk to. His wife passed a few years back, and his son hardly ever comes to visit him. When he does it’s usually to try and talk Nigel into selling the farm. His son is only interested in how much the farm will be worth when his father dies and not the joy it still brings the old man. 

“He probably won’t have long to wait; Nigel is really starting to go downhill. He repeats himself constantly and has a hard time remembering what he’s been told, but he loves to talk about gardening and different techniques he’s tried over the years. I’ve learned some valuable, non-magical tips from him. I noticed just now his breathing is getting very strained, and he’s walking slower each time I see him. I hope he makes it back to his cottage okay. I offered to help him back once, but he said he’d rather do it himself. Self-reliant old codger,” Neville had laughed. “I can’t say no to him. He just needs a friend, someone to listen to him. Now, shall we go see about pruning those apple trees?” 

Three months later the old gardener had died. He left Neville all of his gardening implements and boxes about boxes of gardening books, especially herbal related. The gardener’s son had tried to contest that part of the will; wanting that along with the land he’d inherited. Nigel had made it quite clear in his will, however, that Neville had been his friend and he wanted him to have them. Albus was glad to know others appreciated the kindness of Neville as much as he had grown to. This was just another reason for his continued and growing affection for his boss and friend. 

He settled into the easy chair, flipped on the reading light behind him and the Muggle CD player. Both he and Neville loved the Muggle appliance and usually had it playing when they were there, although their taste in music was decidedly different. Albus preferred classical and sometime jazz, while Neville was more oldies rock. 

“How can you stand to listen to that?” Albus had often asked Neville after having endured a full CD’s length of some blonde adolescent. The singing was horrid, in Albus’s opinion.

“But that’s Brittany. She was the hottest thing in my day. Everyone, including wizards, had a thing for her, even though she was Muggle.” 

Albus picked up and looked at the cover of the CD. “She’s quite attractive I must admit, if one flew in that direction, which I don’t. However, she can’t sing at all.” He looked up to see Neville staring at him questioningly. Albus realized it was the first admission he had made of his preference for blokes. “Umm, you knew I was gay. Didn’t you?”

Neville nodded and said, “I thought you might be, but it’s the first you’ve ever mentioned it. I’m okay with it, by the way.” He studied his fingernails for a long time, digging dirt out from underneath them before he continued, “You know I had such a crush on your dad, when we were younger, I often thought I was. He was always so encouraging and supportive. He made me feel I was worth something, made me realize I could do things I’d never thought I could before. And let’s not forget those eyes of his,” Neville sighed deeply. 

“But then he had to go and fall in love with the most wonderful woman, your mum. I knew it would be an unrequited love affair. I was never interested in any other man after that. You know, you remind me so much of him at this age. Not just how you look, but how you make me feel as well.” 

Silence reigned between the two of them, until Neville had again spoken. “Being with you takes me back to when I was younger; that and listening to the decidedly untalented Brittany,” Neville had joked as he headed out the door.

Albus had simply stood shocked; Neville had had a crush on his dad. Neville thought Albus was a lot like his dad. Well, that wasn’t really a big shock; you’d have to be blind not to see the similarities between the two of them. But Neville had indicated it went beyond just the appearances. 

Albus began to flip through the pages of the book. Obviously written by a Muggle, the book was lacking in true magical uses for the herbs mentioned. Albus was about to put the book back on the shelf when he’d come to a section on herbs that could be used to induce lust in another person.

An idea began to form in his mind. He read further. He didn’t want to do anything that would force Neville against his will, but the book said the herbs would only bring forth feelings that were already there. The herb would just give someone the courage to act on those feelings. It would only bring forth a physical response if the emotion was not already there. It other words it was not a love herb, but a lust herb for those who had trouble expressing their emotions physically. Albus continued reading. 

He studied the book and the different applications he could try. He decided making a tincture of to mix with Neville’s favourite beverage might be the way to go. The book had said the taste and smell would be unnoticeable, if mixed with a strong tea. Neville’s passion for spearmint tea would come in handy. 

The book also said the tea could be sprinkled around the bed of both parties and the person in it would awaken to lustful feelings. Albus had to admit he was hesitant about that application. What if it worked on his own lustful feelings; which were already awake and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on their own, thank you very much? What if he was unable to stop himself from being overpowered by the herb, and unable to stop, he molested Neville. Albus decided he might be willing to risk that in the future, but not now. 

The noise of someone stepping out of the Floo alerted him that Neville was home. He wasn’t sure if Neville would want to talk about his evening or not, but Albus would be glad to listen if he did. 

Neville looked tired and drained, yet accepting. Albus figured the dinner and conversation had not gone as Neville had hoped. He also thought this was the prefect chance for him to try out the tea. Alright, maybe it was taking advantage of Neville’s vulnerable state, but if Neville did not want him or desire him, the herb would have no effect. 

Albus walked up to Neville and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry, Nev, I can tell by the look in your eyes the conversation didn’t go as you had hoped. Come and sit down, but first let’s loosen your tie and take off those fancy shoes,” he said loosening Neville’s tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Albus’s fingers grazing against Neville’s Adam’s apple and the sides of his neck as he did so, his fingers trembling at the contact. Neville’s eyes closed briefly and his breath escaped in a rush. Flushing, Neville reopened his eyes, his pupils large and dilated and gazed into Albus’s. They looked at each other in silence, but neither made a move.

After a moment or two, Albus pushed Neville into the chair and squatted in front of him. Neville’s eyes grew even larger. “Albus, what are you up to?” he questioned.

“Nothing, Neville, just relax.” Albus wanted so badly to undo the buckle and zip of Neville’s trousers and bury his head in Neville’s lap. But it was not the time or the place. For some reason it seemed crucial for Neville to be the one to make the first move. So instead he bent down and untied Neville’s shoes, removing them one at a time, taking the time to massage each foot. Neville moaned, stretching and flexing, as Albus applied firm pressure to each one. 

Neville had looked disappointed, when Albus first began to remove his shoes, as if he too wanted some other action to take place, but he soon relaxed into the massage. Albus for his part was very appreciative of Neville’s vocal response. His body responding to the sounds, wondering if they were the same kind of sounds Neville made just before he was about to come. His trousers tightening around his cock, Albus stood and turned towards the kitchen. 

“I’m going to bring you a cup of tea; spearmint okay?” he asked as he stood and walked toward the Aga. “I know how much you like it. I put some on to brew earlier, it should still be hot. I thought you might want a cup when you came home; either to celebrate or commiserate. He smiled and shrugged slightly in Neville’s direction. 

Neville closed his eyes and nodded. “I think a cup of commiserating spearmint tea would be just the thing. A large cup, if you would. Please. Those daisies look good in that old milk jug.”

Albus had placed a huge bunch of Shasta daisies and some baby breath in an old jug and placed it on the kitchen table that could be seen from the chair Neville was currently sitting in. Albus found he enjoyed having flowers in the cottage. 

“Yes sir, Master Neville, coming right up.” Albus joked as he went into the kitchen. 

***

Albus felt the sun bright and warm on his face, when he awoke the next morning. He could not remember the last time the sun had been up before him. “Oh, Fuck, I’ve overslept.” Panicked he started to leap from the bed, when a warm arm reached out and pulled him back down.

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re going to have a bit of a lie in this morning,” the husky voice of Neville’s rough from sleep, said as he pulled Albus to him. 

Albus had of course, confessed to Neville his use of the lust herb right after they had ended up in Neville’s bed together, their lips red and swollen from the kisses they had shared before stumbling up the stairs to Neville’s room.

“I know, I could smell the subtle fragrance of the saffron, mixed with the spearmint, when you handed me the cup,” Neville had replied as he ran his garden roughened hands over the swell of Albus’s arse, pulling him closer. 

“You mean you knew all along?” Albus gasped when they erections had rubbed against each other, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through him.

“Of course I knew. When you’ve been working with herbs as long as I have you’ll begin to detect the slightest variances in smells and aromas. I’m glad you confessed, and I’m doubly glad you took the initiative. I think that’s enough talking for now, however.” 

Neville’s soft yet firm lips and his tongue were now, once again, demanding entrance into Albus’s mouth as his calloused fingers demanded entrance into Albus’s body. He stroked the hard flesh of Albus’s cock with a surety after a night of exploring each other and learning what made the other flush with desire. 

Groaning in pleasure Albus had deepened the kiss as he too had found the smooth and silken flesh of Neville’s erection. Neville responded with his own moan of pleasure as he thrust himself into Albus grasp, reminding Albus of just of just how successful the lust herb had been. 

“What about the garden? Don’t we need to get up?” 

Albus arched himself off the bed as Neville’s fingers sped up the rhythm, keeping time with Albus’s own. In his lust-filled incomprehension, he heard Neville say. “The garden will wait.” 

 

fin


End file.
